Voldemort entered the Great Hall in the middle of supper, drawing the attention of every student he passed walking down the center aisle. He fixed his gaze on the professors' table, ignoring the students as well as Dumbledore.
Both Potter and Dumbledore were here. If he acted quickly, he might have been able to take out both of them without excessive damage to the school. If Dumbledore were to die, how might the other professors respond? Severus would certainly fight with him, but the rest would turn their wands at them both.
There was no apparition out. If he were to kill them, it would lead to a battle in the Great Hall, ruining the school and killing a large portion of the student body. It would hardly lead people to support him if he killed off their children.
Having to pander to the general population was too political. Once he accomplished his current goals, he would find a way to carry power over the populace without the need for politics.
Power should diverge from strength, not from pandering.
He stepped up to the platform where the professors sat, and met Severus's gaze. "Professor, there's an incident you need to see to."
"Has something happened?"
"Draco has taken ill. Madam Pomfrey asked for you to come to the hospital wing."
Voldemort kept his voice low, but the other professors would have heard. He felt Dumbledore's gaze on him, and had to breath heavily to keep from lashing out. He held another's wand, one that didn't answer to him the same. Dumbledore had the advantage.
Would Potter stay to fight, or would he run?
Severus stood to follow. There was no reason Voldemort shouldn't accompany him, so he left the Great Hall, continuing to ignore the stares. He would be questioned later, certainly by Pansy and her insufferable need to know everything. Although, there was also a chance that she would connect Draco's absence with Voldemort entering without Draco in tow.
In the privacy of the hallway, Severus asked, "What happened?"
"He passed out while we were working, and hit his head when he fell. He hasn't woken."
"He hit his head after passing out?"
"Yes."
"What did you tell Pomfrey?"
"What I told you. She has said nothing of what she believes is wrong."
"She will expect me to send word to Narcissa."
"If something is truly wrong, I suspect I will need to replace Draco with someone else. We will have to send him home to trade off."
But who could be trusted with it? It would need to be someone able to satisfactorily complete the homework, as well as the prefect duties. But he also couldn't draw extra attention. Or lash out. The options were incredibly slim. It had taken an Unbreakable Vow for Narcissa simply to know of it.
"He's never displayed any indications of illness before."
"He chose an inopportune time to start."
"Were you able to make any progress?"
"It was almost the moment we began."
Severus was quiet for the length of a hall. Voldemort said nothing to fill the silence, instead working through the narrow list of who he might trust enough to be a part of this plan. The complications would be extreme, but potentially less so than risking Draco continually putting him at risk.
Just before turning into the hospital wing, Severus said, "She may ask you to leave."
"We will do what we can to prevent that."
Draco was awake when they entered, staring sullenly at the ceiling.
"Mr. Malfoy," Severus said, "How are you feeling?"
Draco didn't look over. "Tired."
"Yes, that's to be expected," Pomfrey said softly. "Severus, I should speak with you and Draco privately."
"Thomas can stay," Draco said unprompted.
"This isn't a matter–"
"It's fine," Draco said. "I don't mind."
At least he had the sense not to try hiding anymore.
"Very well," Pomfrey said, and although she had asked for Severus, she spoke directly to Draco. "Your vitals are incredibly weak, and you're significantly underweight. I understand this is a difficult time for you and your family, and that it might seem as though that won't change."
Voldemort stared at Draco, who seemed to understand what she was alluding to already.
Pomfrey paused, and then carried on, "When was the last time you ate?"
Draco closed his eyes. "Yesterday. Maybe breakfast."
"When did you begin struggling with this?"
"After my father's arrest."
"I can't fathom what that must be like for you. However, taking it out on yourself only hurts you. Your health is as important as ever, and if you keep this up, you risk lasting damage to your body. Some things can't be undone."
Draco's hand flexed at his side, and his eyes remained closed. Voldemort didn't know if he was telling the truth about not eating, or if Lucius's arrest had been a convenient cover for his stress this term. Once they were alone, he would find it out.
"I want you to stay here for a couple days," she went on. "I can work you through some pamphlets on the matter, and we can get in touch with your mother."
She looked at Severus then, who nodded once.
"Does she have to know?" Draco asked.
"You haven't come of age. And having a support system will be important, going forwards."
"I'm really fine," Draco said.
"This isn't something I can prescribe a potion to cure. This is something you will need to work through, every day."
"And I can't work through it back in my dorm?"
"It's worrying me that you're taking this so lightly, Mr. Malfoy. I hope that soon, you'll understand why."
Severus stepped forward, and put his hand on Draco's shoulder. "I will send word to your mother, and let the professors know you'll be absent for the next few days. Thomas can bring you any assignments."
Draco turned away from him, slightly enough not to be rude, but enough to indicate he had nothing further to say on the matter. Perhaps it was embarrassing, or perhaps his resistance came from the idea of informing his mother. He wrote to his mother only that morning, the first time since the term began. Voldemort had seen his thoughts. He knew Draco blamed her silence for his struggles this term.
Pomfrey returned with a folded parchment, the seal of St. Mungo's on the front. When Draco saw it, he closed his eyes once more.
"I will return after classes tomorrow," Voldemort said, and didn't stay to listen to the lecture on eating habits certain to follow. If Draco planned to say anything, then he would have already.
If Draco was confined to the hospital wing for the next several days, Voldemort would have to handle the trivialities himself. The potions and the classes and dealing with everyone who would be pushing for questions.
Once in the common room, he walked straight back to the dorm and reviewed the progress on the potions. They were simmering for the night, requiring no effort for now, and he returned to the common room. He sat on the couch to wait for the others to arrive, and considered how best to spin the day's events.
Voldemort watched the fire and played through several potential outcomes. His first instinct was to lie to the rest of Slytherin house about the true reason for Draco's absence. The lie could be something bold, something as not to mar Draco's reputation within his house, while also accounting for his hospitalization. A simple solution would be to claim Thomas was teaching Draco advanced spellwork. Durmstrang had a superior curriculum, or at least, it did for the sake of his personal convenience. If he began the rumor Draco injured himself performing a firestorm, the rest of the house would only have admiration for his efforts given his age and presumed abilities.
The downside of that was the inevitable request for demonstration. The others would demand lessons as well. Winning over the sixth year students would draw time away from the vanishing cabinet. Additionally, the professors would put a stop to any student learning dangerous spells. Their only true course in dueling magic came in the form of defense, not offense.
That lie would bring additional scrutiny he couldn't afford.
He had the incantation for the cabinet. It wouldn't be much longer before he completed his work at Hogwarts. Draco's reputation wouldn't be important once Hogwarts belonged to him.
The truth worked in his favor. Draco already proved he couldn't be trusted to look after himself, and Voldemort couldn't spend his days monitoring all of Draco's habits. But if others knew, the eyes of the school would be on him, ensuring he remained in health as long as he was necessary.
Replacing him this far into the year wasn't viable. The professors knew his handwriting, both for Thomas and himself. He was in the midst of five batches of polyjuice, batches that could last from breakfast through lunch. He already demonstrated his willingness to remain discreet. He knew the coursework and what the professors expected.
Draco was the only person bearing his mark who could manage his role. Trading him out, while an appropriate punishment, would only lead to further trouble. Draco already proved he was enough trouble as it was.
Losing his position within his house could be troublesome. Voldemort needed the others to carry on fawning about Draco if they were to make sure he ate at every meal. His current state was a show of weakness. He could pretend the reasons were due to his father's arrest, but it was still unbecoming to let himself wither away.
As the students returned from supper, Voldemort made up his mind. He stood and collected his bag, shuffling the contents until he heard Pansy's distinctive ranting.
"—skeeving off dinner will get him out of rounds. I'll bring it up with Professor Snape."
She looked around the common room, harsh gaze landing on Voldemort.
"Where's Draco hiding now?"
She stood flanked by Daphne and Millicent, two people Voldemort had yet to bother with. For now, Pansy was the only person he needed.
"Could we speak privately?" Voldemort asked her, and without waiting on a reply, made his way to the exit of their common room. He knew she would follow, and never stopped to ensure himself correct. Pansy Parkinson was an easy sort to control.
He hardly had to wait a moment in the dungeon corridor before Pansy came up beside him.
"Has something happened?" she asked.
"Draco has taken ill."
"Ill?" she said, a trace of disbelief in the line of her brow. "Draco's never really ill."
"He is with Madam Pomfrey now. It's a delicate matter, and I am certain he would appreciate your discretion."
The very suggestion overshadowed her doubts, quickly being replaced with interest. "I've been his closest friend since his birth. Tell me."
Despite the order, Voldemort obliged.
"Draco hasn't been eating. She's gathering the resources needed to help him deal with whatever is preventing him from, well, from looking after himself as he should."
It took Pansy a moment to process the words. When their full weight settled, she covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers, seemingly too shocked, perhaps horrified, to respond without careful consideration.
"I taunted him for no longer asking for chocolates. I teased him for this."
He couldn't have chosen a better reaction. Her guilt easily could distract her from any suggestion of weakness from Draco.
"I don't imagine he wants everyone knowing the truth, but Madam Pomfrey intends on him staying upstairs for at least a few days."
"A few days won't make a difference. He needs to be down here, with us. With his friends to support him."
"I hardly know him. But I do think I would help for people to keep him on the right road to recovery."
Because Voldemort certainly wouldn't go to any more meals than he already did, and he needed the rest of Slytherin house to force Draco to eat. They could work for him without ever knowing.
"Too many people will taunt him for it," Pansy said. "They'll call him weak."
"That easily could cause him additional harm, and lead to him doubling down."
"A few of us can be trusted with the truth. But he'll need a cover for being away for so long. And it isn't like we can claim Potter put him there again after they've spent the term ignoring each other."
"Again?"
Pansy rolled her eyes. "Potter and a Weasley beat him in front of the school last year. Using fists like fucking muggles. Draco would riot if we claimed anything like that happened again. It was awful enough the first go around."
"Who do you trust with the information?" Voldemort asked. "Perhaps they would like to go up to sit with him a while?"
"Theo's been a friend almost as long as I have. Gregory as well."
Gregory seemed an odd choice, but Draco did spend as much time with him as anyone else. Voldemort had assumed they were convenient given their size, not that Gregory and Vincent were actual friends. He would need to keep that in mind, should their loyalty come into play later on.
"It's small enough a group I doubt Madam Pomfrey would mind a short visit."
"Draco will loathe us talking about him like this when he isn't around to correct us. I'll get them and bring them right up."
"I'll leave you to speak with the others. I'm certain Draco's well-being, physical and otherwise, is paramount to you."
The reminder wasn't as subtle as he might have been, but Draco's position within Slytherin had already become compromised. A certain appearance needed to be maintained, and with that, a delicate hand was necessary. He hadn't needed this manner of frivolous politicking since his own childhood.
And to prevent from appearing too overbearing, he left Pansy to handle the others. Draco would despise being forced to take on this role, and having people know of his struggles. Even if that hadn't been the reason for his fainting spell earlier, his eating habits certainly played a role.
Voldemort had become so intent on his purpose for returning to Hogwarts that he overlooked the pawns necessary to complete it. Without Severus, Voldemort wouldn't be able to communicate with his followers, and without Draco, he would have to fully play the role of a student. Neither were optional. And his oversight nearly led him to losing one of the two people he was dependent on for the rest of the year.
He returned to the hospital wing, where Draco sat alone in the bed, holding a pamphlet he didn't seem to be reading.
"Draco."
Draco looked up at his voice, then lowered his gaze back to the pamphlet. "Thomas."
"Have they all left you for the night?"
"Only to confer with St. Mungo's."
"Your friends will be up shortly."
Draco paled when he looked up, and gave up on feigning interest in the pamphlet titled, How to Identify Eating Disorders. It fluttered to the floor beside him, and floated under the bed. Draco made no play for it.
"They shouldn't—"
"Yet they will. Pansy assures discretion."
"Pansy can't be trusted with anything significant."
Voldemort approached the bed, and Draco's mouth closed mid-argument. He wilted, shoulders drawing in, and gaze falling to his lap. He always treated Voldemort more laxly when he wore Thomas's face. The realization of who he was speaking to came slightly too late when facing Thomas instead of Voldemort.
"You cannot be trusted with your own well-being," Voldemort said. "Until you prove yourself, you'll have to be monitored. Pansy Parkinson will ensure you no longer engage with these acts of self-destruction."
Voldemort leaned in, voice low in the event someone entered the room while he spoke. "You made a vow and gave your life to me to use as I saw fit. How do you think I react to someone destroying my property?"
A shudder ran through Draco, and when he failed to look up, Voldemort forced his gaze with a firm grip.
"Answer."
"Not well, my lord."
"Indeed."
Voldemort withdrew, a moment before the door to the infirmary opened. Pansy rushed to Draco's side, taking his hand while shooting him a dark glare. Theo and Gregory joined her, but stood over either shoulder.
"Draco love, you should have told me. Especially with how I teased."
"I—" Draco began, and for a fleeting moment, he seemed ready to deny it, but his expression softened, and he exhaled before going on. "I hadn't thought it was this severe."
"With everything that's happened," Theo began, but shook his head. "We're here now."
Gregory nodded his silent support.
"How long will you be up here?" Pansy asked. "It's unconscionable to keep you holed up here any longer."
"Madam Pomfrey is insisting on a few days."
"Nonsense. If anyone can talk their way out of this asylum, it's you."
"It's hardly like she's vying to keep me here," Draco said.
"Before you go plotting a breakout," Theo said, "Maybe we should consider listening to medical advice. If she wants you to stay—"
"She won't tell him anything I don't already know," Pansy said, and moved Draco's hand into her lap. "You'll have your support system with us. Besides, if you stay here, the whole school will hear of it by tomorrow."
"So lie," Gregory said.
They all turned to him, as though surprised by his suggestion. They remained silent, until Gregory went on. "It isn't like she'll tell anyone why you're here. We tell the others anything."
"Not to be a spoilsport," Theo said, "But he's visibly ill."
The comment brought a flush to Draco's cheeks. He didn't like to have people comment on his appearance, particularly when the commentary came as a slight. And although the words were an insult, no one could have denied their accuracy. If Voldemort hadn't been so caught up in repairing the cabinet, he might have noticed Draco wasting away in front of them all.
"He's been studying too hard," Gregory said.
"Studying Arithmancy doesn't do this to a person," Theo said.
"Occlumency would," Draco said.
The solution was cleaner than Voldemort anticipated. Draco's occlumency was stronger than he could have foreseen, and that level of skill took extreme practice. They would only need lie over when he learned the ability. He had been given an assignment this year, along with the public lie, and occlumency would prove valuable to him.
"If someone were to check—"
"They'd find impenetrable defenses," Draco said.
Voldemort tested them nightly. Even with Draco lowering his guard, it still took Voldemort effort to reach into his mind.
"It'll draw more attention to you," Pansy said.
"But the right sort."
Pansy stroked the back of Draco's hand. He had taken off his outer school robe, leaving only the structured shirt beneath, which likely had fit him at the beginning of the term. Now, his wrists were starkly thin inside the loose cuffs.
Madam Pomfrey returned before they could continue planning through the details, and sent them on their way. She kept her voice level and calm, as though raising it might send Draco spiraling, and as they began filing out, she let them know they could visit again after classes the following day.
"Wouldn't he be better off coming with us?" Pansy asked.
"I'd like him to stay a day or two. There are a few people who would like to speak with him first."
Draco flushed again, gaze reaching upwards, but he said nothing of his discomfort.
The four of them left together, silent for the length of the hospital corridor.
"We'll have to start telling immediately," Pansy said. "The moment they realize he hasn't returned after supper, the questions will begin."
"If you display any signs of concern, the others will realize," Voldemort said.
"Concern isn't common at Durmstrang?"
"I hadn't thought it in Slytherin either."
Back in his day, no one would have been caught displaying this much care over a fellow student. It was unbecoming, and worse, it gave others an advantage. Their care for another classmate could only be displayed as a weakness, something to manipulate. And yet now, they showed no hesitancy over surrounding Draco.
"You're the one who told us," Theo pointed out.
"At Draco's insistence."
"What were the two of you doing?" Pansy asked. "You skipped supper with him."
"He wanted to study for his Arithmancy essay."
"He wanted to skip supper," Pansy snapped.
"Which I understand now, the same as you all."
More than that, he understood the need to control the rest of Slytherin house, in addition to Draco. He would have greater difficulty dissuading them from caring than controlling their choices. His methods this term had proven faulty. He overestimated Draco's resolve, and underestimated the intensity of Draco's friendships. If they wouldn't leave Draco to his work, then he would need to find a way to use them to his benefit.
Ensuring Draco ate regularly would be a start.
"He'll lash out when his mother is called about it," Pansy said. "You know how she hovers."
"That's likely why he's being kept there," Theo said.
"Or because he needs help," Gregory said.
"Think you can muscle his way out?"
Voldemort stayed out of their discussion on the walk back to the dormitories. Once he had to face the other students, he would have to begin some initial shifts for the remainder of the term. Until Draco returned from the hospital wing, then Voldemort would be on his own to deal with the daily tedium, as well as the potions bubbling in their dorm.
Vincent and Blaise sat in their regular seats in the common room, and sent the others an irritated glare when they entered.
"Somewhere to be tonight?" Blaise asked.
"Draco's in hospital," Pansy said, loud enough to draw several gazes from all about the room. She crossed the room boldly, and clearly aware that she held the room's attention. "I don't know how many times I have to nanny him about his health."
"He's sick?" Vincent asked.
"If only it were so simple. The numpty took it upon himself to study advanced magicks, and forgot the basics."
"Rubbish," Blaise said. "It's Draco."
"He nearly cracked his skull when he went too far."
"See for yourself tomorrow," Theo said. "He's raging to get out of that place and back to his studies."
Pansy sat beside Blaise, and when they all fell into place, the seat Voldemort had found Draco in more than once remained empty. Given the necessity of change, he sat there and ignored their pointed looks.
Draco was his, which meant all Draco had was his. Eventually, they would all come to see the same.
"You're serious?" Vincent asked, and the unsubtle look at Voldemort indicated he suspected otherwise. But Voldemort remained silent.
"Wish we weren't," Theo said.
"What could he possibly have wanted to study so intently that he sent himself to hospital?" Blaise asked.
"He says occlumency, although I can't prove it. Perhaps one of us should take up legilimency and put him to the test."
"Last thing I need is you prats scrabbling around in my mind."
"He must know a great deal," Voldemort said. "He's pushed himself to his limit to secure his mind."
Because he hadn't revealed that while in the infirmary, everyone in hearing distance, including those who believed they knew the truth, turned to him. He examined a thumbnail to mount their anticipation, and to keep them hooked on his words.
"What do you mean?" Pansy asked.
"Certainly you can piece it together. There are more pressing things than potions and charms."
The clarity came instantly, although he didn't linger on their expressions. He had initially hoped that Thomas would make it through the year without drawing much attention or making much of a name for himself. He held no desire to be Tom again.
And then Draco forced his hand.
"Even so, who would he have to hide from here?" Blaise asked.
"You tell me. I only just arrived."
"Maybe it's time you told us why your father transferred here," Vincent said.
"For work, as I've said."
"Work."
"Yes. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to study."
He left before their questions were answered, wanting them to begin filling in the answers themselves. Whatever they came up with would fall short of the truth, but likely would be creative enough to make up for it. At worst, they would find Voldemort's mark on Draco's arm. Even that didn't cause much issue. With their admiration for Draco, forcing them to acknowledge he was owned might force their loyalty.
Eventually, they would all have to acknowledge that their perfect pureblood ideals amounted to very little. Draco Malfoy had everything they admired—the name, wealth, prestige, blood status—but what had he done with that? Win over a handful of his peers?
Before the end of the term, they would learn to value power above blood.
The next day his anger built from the moment he was forced to tend to the row of polyjuice cauldrons. Draco kept meticulous notes for each of them, but Voldemort shouldn't have had to step in.
He went to breakfast, knowing the others would be more wary of anyone skipping meals. He vanished away bits off his plate piece by piece to avoid drawing attention to it, and faintly overheard the discussion at the Ravenclaw table behind him. He listened to it only long enough to confirm that word of Draco's hospitalization had spread houses, and then returned to tuning out Vincent and Gregory's complaints about the troubles of Quidditch.
Worse came during classes. Draco always kept the notes, and if Voldemort didn't, there would be no way to hide the fact Draco did both sets of work. So Voldemort recorded the lectures. He wasn't able to break away to work on the cabinet. Draco's inability to see to personal matters lost him a day. No matter what Pomfrey believed, Draco would not be spending another night in the infirmary.
He lingered after Defense to tell Severus that, and Severus assured him the matter had been dealt with. Narcissa had been contacted, and while she wouldn't be coming in person, she sent a letter expressing the desire for Draco to visit with her personal choice of mediwitch.
The solution was imperfect, and still didn't account for the lost day. Voldemort had no choice but remain the perfect student until Draco was released. When he was, they would establish new expectations.
When classes finished for the day, Voldemort made his way to the infirmary, under the guise of bringing Draco his notes. Pansy had beaten him there, and sat beside Draco's bed, regaling him with pointless tales of what he'd missed that morning.
"Thomas," Draco greeted.
"I have notes for you."
Draco took them, almost entirely masking the slight panic in his eyes. He'd failed again, this time by making Voldemort do his work. He'd lounged about in bed all day instead of doing his actual assignment for the year.
"I still think you should have taken Herbology with me," Pansy said. "It ties so well into Potions."
"You're just petty over Longbottom outperforming you."
Pansy snarled. "Hospital doesn't suit you."
"And jealousy over Longbottom never colors you well."
"See if I visit you again the next time you drain yourself silly doing spellwork."
The fact neither of them had released the other's hand was more telling than anything they had spoken. The display was unbecoming to them both.
Severus came in and called for Pomfrey. She left her office at his command and read the letter proffered to her. Voldemort took it to be the letter from Narcissa, and ignored it for the time. Draco's gaze shifted over, questioning, but he said nothing. Although Draco had failed in some aspects of his role, he at least learned when to be silent.
"Mr. Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey said, coming over with a bitterly angry expression. "Your mother has sent for a personal healer. You'll firecall from Professor Snape's office as needed."
"Thank you," Draco said, and didn't hesitate to get out of the bed. "I appreciate the help you've provided."
"Yes, well, should you need any additional support, my door is always open."
Only Pansy seemed poised to argue, but clearly thought better of it. She released Draco's hand and followed him out into the halls. A glance at Severus prevented her from commenting. Something could silence her.
"Mr. Malfoy," Severus began, "You'll come to my office after supper tomorrow."
"I have rounds," Draco said.
"You'll meet with Miss Parkinson once you've finished."
Draco relented, but the look he and Pansy exchanged indicated that they had dissenting thoughts about the command. For being a skilled occlumens, Draco hardly managed to control his expressions. Perhaps more with people he considered his friends, but regardless, it was an important matter he would need to control.
"Do you want to visit with the others before going down for supper?" Pansy asked.
"Rather not walk down, then back up," Draco said.
"So we'll wait in the Great Hall," Pansy said. "It's good you're back in uniform, not those awful hospital robes."
"You'd think they wouldn't itch, to promote healing."
Severus left them at the staircases. He didn't have to linger around these childish conversations, and Voldemort had little choice but to follow after Draco. He didn't trust Draco not to attempt slipping away, and had to establish new expectations before another day went by. As another priority, he needed to ensure Draco ate.
Had to ensure he kept with the story.
Had to remind him of his purpose.
Draco and Pansy carried on their droll conversation about hospital clothing, It got them down the corridor and on the path to the Great Hall, although they would be early for supper. It meant sitting with them, listening to more of this inane discussion until the elves populated the tables.
"Oh, you don't have your tie," Pansy said, right as they took seats where the sixth years tended to. Draco put a hand to his throat, and shook his head when he found nothing there.
"I've plenty," he said dismissively. "I hardly see reason to rush back up there for it."
A few students had arrived early, but the tables were still barren while the elves prepared supper. Draco leaned against a palm, twirling a strand of hair around a finger, and stared absently at the tapestries hanging on the wall.
"They'll have questions for you tonight," Pansy said. "Should I find reason to pull you away?"
"I'll bear through it."
"I'm convinced you're going to use this to get out of your prefect duties."
"And lose the opportunity to deduct points from the other houses? It's half the fun of the year."
Pansy mirrored Draco's posture. "You really will be alright, won't you, Draco?"
"Of course. This was just a momentary…well, it won't be an issue going forward."
The moment of honesty between them didn't last long. As supper neared, the other members of their year came in, filling the table around Draco. They whispered questions, as if his hospital stay had to be kept secret. Voldemort intended on the word spreading, but for now, they had the advantage information provided, and all of them leaned in to address it, as if to let the others know they knew what was going on.
Draco humored them with the occlumency story, and gave pointed looks to Pansy, Theo, and Goyle when they stared too long at his plate.
Voldemort was more subtle ensuring Draco ate, but their fixation on Draco's plate meant he could much more easily disguise his own eating habits. He gradually vanished food from his plate, but watched to be certain Draco ate everything on his own.
There would be no more incidents like yesterday in the room of hidden things.
Draco played through dinner, tantalizing the others with pieces of information, some true, some embellished, and others entirely made up. He avoided eye contact when Blaise teased about checking his abilities, and he scoffed when Theo advised not pushing himself too hard.
Draco played his part well, now, at least. If he had been carrying on well all this time, then they wouldn't have been put in this predicament. The cabinet repair wouldn't wait any longer.
And once they finished with dinner, Draco refused all offers to study or play some game in the common room. He must have realized it was time to accept the consequences of his actions.
He carried on his act as they made their way down to the dormitories. Voldemort remained patient, allowing Draco to carry on his display and win over his housemates yet again. He would need them. Another three minutes of silence on his part would pay off in the end.
Voldemort left Draco to finish up with his friends, and waited inside their dorm room for Draco to make his eventual appearance.
He removed his outer robe, laying it over the unused bed assigned to Thomas, but took out his true wand. Thomas's lesser wand he discarded on top of the robe. He channeled his anger through his wand's core, feeling the pulse of energy and life as he connected to it.
Voldemort curled his fingers, adjusting his grip, and lit the fire that had burned to embers.
Then he stood motionless, facing the door.
When Draco entered, his hand stalled on the doorknob, too long to hide his initial reaction. He debated running. After all this time, he was still too cowardly to be loyal.
The moment lingered between them, but passed when Draco slid inside. He closed the door behind him, then turned with bowed head. He remained silent. At least he didn't lack all discernment.
Voldemort allowed Draco's fear to simmer, and then asked, "Were you intentionally attempting to sabotage my efforts?"
"No, my lord."
Draco's hands clasped together, a posture to convey defenselessness in his inability to cast a spell, and his bow deepened. He hadn't done his hair while in hospital, and it curtained his eyes.
"You certainly knew you weren't maintaining your health."
"It seemed…inconsequential."
Voldemort stepped forwards and took in each of Draco's poorly hidden reactions: the tightening around his eyes, the inward twitch of his fingers, the length of the breath he held. They both knew the inevitable end of this conversation. Although, other similar lessons hadn't gotten through to him.
"I never expected it would interfere," Draco went on.
It was almost amusing how alike he and Lucius sounded when on the precipice of begging.
"You claim ignorance?"
Voldemort closed the distance between them, and lifted Draco's chin with the tip of his wand. When their eyes met, Draco caught himself from recoiling, a moment too late. If Voldemort hadn't recently taken a sip of the polyjuice, Draco certainly would have looked away.
"Is this what you aspire to, Draco?"
Voldemort trailed his wand up a too sharp jaw, then down to the racing pulse at the side of his throat. Draco's gaze flickered down towards it, then back up.
"You have been raised under a misconception, told your entire life that you are special by merit of being born. You lord purity as a weapon and yet hide behind it as a shield. Who are you? Your looks?"
Voldemort gripped Draco by the hair, harshly enough to earn a gritted expression.
"Your name? Your blood?"
With a curt flick, Voldemort cut Draco at the base of his throat, shallowly, and low enough to be hidden under his collar. His hold of Draco's hair held him in place.
Voldemort let the blood dribble out before pushing Draco back against the door. He released his grip only to let the blood cover his hand.
"Look at it," he said, bringing the blood into Draco's view. "Here is the blood you place your worth in. You boast in this blood, and yet I have easily taken it from you. You bleed the same as anyone. But if this is all you care to be, wear it."
Voldemort rubbed his hand over Draco's face. He collected more to paint him with it. It colored his hair and entered his mouth and pooled at the corners of his eyes.
"You must decide where you go from here, Draco Malfoy. Go on treating your birthright as nothing more than a title, or you can learn what it truly means to be pureblooded. You were born with everything and have chosen to waste it on what? Swaying a few classmates? Convincing yourself that your physical blood makes you anything?"
He shoved away from Draco.
"You were born into generations of magic, to connections, to resources, to the greatest segment of our history. You have embraced that for the sole purpose of self-importance, rather than what it truly is."
Voldemort caught himself before he lost control of his anger. The likes of Draco Malfoy shouldn't have brought him to his level. But he was at Hogwarts, back to being seen as Tom .
"You are the pureblood of purebloods, the trophy of two renowned families. Now tell me, Draco, standing there with your blood on display, do you feel important?"
Draco had taken to breathing through thinly parted lips, and exhaled before saying, "No."
"No," Voldemort agreed. "Your blood only gives you opportunities, but power is the true currency of our world. You have to decide what to make of yourself from this moment on. Will you remain in the confines of weakness and comfort, or become what generations of powerful wizards intended their lineage to become?"
Blood had begun seeping into Draco's robes, and the dampness reflected the faintest glimmer of fire light.
"I do want to be more," Draco said.
"It would be a pity for Malfoy and Black to end with the likes of you. You will choose, Draco. If you desire to be seen as a trophy, I assure you, I have quite the collection."
Draco's eyes widened almost imperceptibly through the blood clinging to his lashes. It was the first threat that seemed to get through to him, even after several warnings with the cruciatus.
"I'll do better, my lord."
"You'll be better."